


Of Witches and Wizards, and Magical Beasts

by Budapest_All_Over_again



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: ALL the crossover!, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Budapest_All_Over_again/pseuds/Budapest_All_Over_again
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John returns to Hogwarts for his seventh year, after spending the last five in Afghanistan. Clint liked Natasha, except he didn't, and now he likes River. Amy and Rory are, well, Amy and Rory. Tony needs his Potions Bro. Bruce meets a lovely young Hufflepuff, and Dumbledore has some weird ideas. ALL THE CROSSOVERS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Witches and Wizards, and Magical Beasts

 “Oi! Stupidface!”

Rory spun around at the familiar voice, accidentally hitting a student in green robes across the shoulder. A flash of red flicked him in the face a split-second before he felt the _humph_ of her body slamming up against his in a hug.

“Bloody hell Rory, what happened to ‘I’ll send an owl everyday’?”   
  
“Sorry Amy, you know my parents. Apparently you’re a ‘bad influence’,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her. Amy pulled back, pinching his cheeks patronizingly with her forefingers.   
  
“There’s such a thing as ‘sneaky’, you know.”

“Just because you do it doesn’t mean I have to.”

“Wrong!” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You don’t mean tha- Ooh!” Amy pointed at the shiny brass “HB” button on his robes. “You? Head Boy? This year is gonna be _fun_!” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, shooting him a flirty smile.

He was half-tempted to roll his eyes. This was typical Amy behaviour. “Don’t think I’ll be giving you any favours.”

She raised her eyebrows, clicking her fingers sassily in a perfect impersonation of Celia Warbeck. “Why would I need them? Head Girl don’t need no favours.”

“You got it!” Rory practically yelled, his eyes widening.

“No need to look so surprised, stupid. Now, c’mon, we’ll be late for prefect meeting. Don’t want to get told off by McGonagall as soon as we get there, do we?”

* * *

  
People never change.

This is what was running through the head of John Watson as three tall teenage boys threw what appeared to be Pumpkin Pasties at the back of his head.

John's family had recently relocated back to England after several years abroad, in a remote town somewhere in the south of Afghanistan. Being raised from a young age in the middle of nowhere wasn't what John would call a pleasant experience.

Especially when you're a wizard. Hiding your robes, your wand, your magic, was incredibly hard in a such a small town.

On the other hand, he'd become rather experienced at Memory Charms.

Muttering crude words and curses under his breath, he denied himself revenge, instead dusting off the back of his clothes. "Very funny guys, thanks."

"Anytime. Although, I must say, it's an improvement. When did you get those clothes, 1973?" the obvious ringleader sneered. Rather tall, with slicked-back blond hair, he didn't appear impressive, but according to what John had heard from the other students, his father was a very important member of the Ministry of Magic. Lucius someone.

Despite being taught not to fight back, John just couldn’t help it. He hooked his left leg around the blond’s knee, pulling him to the ground. John fished out his wand from his jacket pocket and held it under his adversary’s chin, grinning defiantly. Just as he was about to utter a hex, a stern-looking girl with brown, bushy hair poked her head around the corner. “Stop that!” she said, frowning. She looked between the two of them, her disapproving look growing. “Draco, you’re a prefect. Honestly, you should know better.”

‘Draco’ scrambled to his feet, dusting off his robes. “I’m not taking orders from you, Mudblood.”

By this time, a small crowd had gathered, all in different coloured robes . The ones in green laughed, while everyone else looked shocked and angry. John understood what a Mudblood was, and knew that it was a very offensive term. This girl didn’t seem the type to fight back herself, and being the slightly cocky teen he was, he felt the need to stand up for her.

Straightening his back, he drew himself up to his full height. Never mind the fact that he was slightly shorter than this ‘Draco’ guy, his expression was serious. “Take that back.” he said threateningly, narrowing his eyes at the boy opposite him.

“Why? Are you going to make me?” Draco snorted, giving a smug grin to the green-robed onlookers.

John shrugged, taking a step closer to the other boy. “I will if I have to.”

And then he swung a punch.

* * *

  
“Frankly, I’m disappointed. In all three of you.”

  
The bushy-haired girl opened her mouth to say something, but the professor that had met the three of them at the gate held one hand up, silencing her. “Miss Granger, you’re a prefect now. You should’ve alerted the driver, or something. Honestly, you’re smart enough to know to get an adult if there’s a fight.” The woman motioned for the girl to leave, before turning to Draco.

She sighed. “Luckily for you, Mr. Malfoy, I don’t have the authority to punish you. Professor Snape has that responsibility. You will report back to me after the feast, with a signed note from him.”   
  
Finally, after the blond had left, she turned to John, her eyes flicking between him and a roll of parchment perched on her desk. “You left at the end of first year, yes? In my house, too. I heard the stories about Afghanistan, a true Gryffindor. But still, you can’t just go around punching people on your first day, no matter how much they provoke you.”

Standing up, she started pacing around the room. “There are traditions and standards here, Mr Watson. You know that. Consider this a warning. I am _very_ proud of my house. And I will _not_ stand for nonsense.” The Professor shot him with a sharp glare, before the corners of her mouth softened to a small smile. “Goodness knows those Weasley twins are hard enough to cope with.”

* * *

An hour later, after having missed most of the Sorting Feast, John trudged up to the common room. As the Fat Lady swung open, he saw three students, in their red robes, muttering amongst each other. Not wanting to start the year as a loner, he strode up to them and held out a hand, smiling. “Hi, I’m new. Name’s John. You wouldn’t happen to know where the dorms are?” 

  
The eldest looking one, with ginger hair and freckled cheeks, nodded in the other direction, towards two doors. It was just then that John realised it was the same girl as before, the one on the carriage. The prefect.  He raised his eyebrows in greeting, before striding in the direction her friend had pointed.

When he reached the top of the narrow staircase, he found one spare bed, his trunk already at the foot of it. Not really wanting to draw any more attention to himself, he pulled out a quill and parchment, settling down to write a letter to Sherlock.

That bloody stubborn git. When John had told him he was going back to Hogwarts, Sherlock, the only friend he’d had while in Afghanistan, had just nodded. John hadn’t expected much of an emotional outburst, but at least a “Really? That’s awful!” would’ve been nice. But Sherlock didn’t really do emotional. Hell, he barely talked except to John.   
  
Four attempts later, he set down his quill. This letter was going to have to wait until John had something to say other than “Well, got into a fight on my first day.” As impressed Sherlock may be, his older brother Mycroft would find out and tell John’s parents.  And that was not something John wanted to happen.

Sighing, he flopped back on the bed. This was going to be a long year.

* * *

Amy squeezed Rory’s hand. “C’mon, it’s time you were in bed. Classes start tomorrow.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking up at her from the common room fire. “Who are you, and what have you done with Amelia Pond?”

Her jaw dropped in an expression of mock annoyance. “Shh. That’s not very nice!” Amy retorted, sticking her tongue out at him. “I can be mature. Sometimes. But it’s not any fun, so I try to restrain the maturity to every other Tuesday, and unfortunately, today isn’t one of them.”

“I noticed. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

After another kiss (or two or three), Rory headed up the stairs to the dormitories. Thankfully, he only had to stop once to get some fifth years into bed. Entering one of the seventh years’ bunkrooms, he shut the door behind him, before nodding to the unfamiliar face currently reading on the four-poster. “Er, hi there.” Rory waved awkwardly. “Rory Williams. I’m Head Boy. Dumbledore mentioned two new enrolments into seventh year this term, you must be John Oatson…?”

“Watson. John Watson.” He nodded back at the other boy. “Yep, that’s me.”

“Terribly sorry. It’s been a long day.” Rory scratched the back of his neck. “Well. I suppose you’ll be in most of my classes. If you need anything, if you have any problems, you can come to me. Seeing as I’m Head Boy and –” He cut himself off, realising he was babbling again.

“Yeah. Thanks.” John mumbled, going back to his book.

Well done, Rory thought to himself. You’ve successfully made yourself look stupid in front of the new kid. That’s great.

He sat down on an unoccupied bed and was opening his mouth to ask what subjects John was taking when he heard giggling outside the door. Frowning, Rory stood up, walked to the door, and flung it open. He cringed slightly at the sight of two people ‘going at it’, as Amy would say. It was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. The girl’s fingers were entangled in his brown hair, his red robes contrasting her yellow.

Rory stood up quickly, snapping back to what Amy would call “Prefect Mode”. He coughed loudly, alerting the couple. The girl giggled, untangling herself from the boy’s arms, who turned around to face Rory.

“Rory! Good to see you. I was just farewellin’ this fine girl here…” said the boy, in his American accent.

“Come on Clint. She’s not meant to be here. This happens to be the Gryffindor Common Room?” He pointed to the girl’s yellow robes. “Not okay.”  
Clint groaned. “Fine.” He leaned over and whispered in the girl’s ear, who giggled again before practically skipping back down the hallway.  
  
When she was successfully out of sight, Rory let out a sigh. “Really, Clint? If it wasn’t bad enough that you brought her here, that’s Hannah Abbott, for goodness’ sake. She’s fifth year.”

“And quite feisty, don’t you think?” Clint said with a smirk, earning him an eye-roll from Rory. “That’s not the point. You know I’ll have to report this to McGonagall, right?”

Shrugging, Clint sat down on the third bed occupying the room. “Already got two detentions lined up with her this week, what else can she do? Tell my dad? He wouldn't care."

John, who had been watching this scene with amusement, raised a hand, waving at Clint. “’Ello there. John Watson. You and I were friends back in first year..?”

“Ah, I remember _you_.” Clint smirked. “I believe I first acquainted your head with the Hogwarts plumbing system?”

“Indeed,” John replied dryly.

The taller of the two ran a hand through his hair absent-mindedly. “Oh well. That’s in the past.”

Rory stood up, pyjamas in one hand. “I’ll just leave you two to bond,” the last word said with a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

After Rory shut the door behind him and a moment of _very_ awkward silence, Clint cocked his head to one side. “So why’d you come back for seventh year? Hell, if I was homeschooled, I don’t think I’d be able to stick normal school. ‘Specially one with ridiculous uniforms like these,” he thought aloud.

“We were homeschooled because there wasn’t much in the way of magical education in Afghanistan,” John explained. “And it wasn’t a particularly nice place to be with all the Muggles fighting over there. So we moved back.” He shrugged. “Not much else to it.”

Clint nodded, his own poor experience with homeschooling administered by his Muggle father allowing him to empathize with John.

Rory chose this moment to re-enter the room, returning to his bed. “It’s time we were all asleep. Since classes start tomorrow it’d probably be best if we _didn’t_ fall asleep in Snape’s class.”

John’s eyes widened. “Is Snape still teaching here? I thought he would’ve been fired years ago for being such an arrogant prick.”

Clint grinned. “Nope, he’s still here, greasy as ever. It’s hilarious, you would’ve thought he puts more product in his hair than Rory does before he sneaks off to the Lake with Am-”

“Bed.” Rory cut him off, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

* * *

There is nothing more annoying, John decided, than an owl wanting to eat your nose. Especially in the early hours of the morning.

The owl, snowy white with pale blue eyes and brown talons, started pecking away at his nose about an hour before it was legal to be awake. One peck, two pecks, three pecks, and then the owl would sit by John’s side, presumably trying to keep warm. Every ten minutes or so, the owl would reach out and peck a few more times.

By 6, John was properly awake. And to be frank, thoroughly annoyed at the fact that a bloody _owl_ , of all things, had decided to wake him up. He picked up the ruddy thing and placed it on a table in the dormitory. _Too bloody early in the morning for this nonsense_.

Not wanting to wake up Rory and Colin ( _No. Clint. His name is Clint. Wake **up** , John_), he stumbled down the stairs and back into the common room. The fire still burning from the night before, John picked up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ lying on the floor and sat down in the comfortable armchair opposite the source of warmth. It had been a long time since he’d caught up with the English wizarding news, and to fit in with the other seventh years he’d probably need to understand what the hell was happening in the wizarding world.

* * *

  
“Hey. You. New kid. John!”

He awoke with a start. “Whaaaa-” It took him a moment to realise where exactly he was. Common room, he’d been reading about the preparations for the next year’s Quidditch World Cup... bugger. He must’ve fallen asleep.

“You were talking about the Wizard Sisters in your sleep. Had a good dream?” Clint, who was standing in front of John’s armchair, smirked. “C’mon, you’ll miss breakfast. And we’ve got potions first. You don’t want to be late for that.”

John stood up quickly, falling over himself in the process. He corrected himself, standing up properly. Looking around the common room, he noted how high the sun was in the sky and immediately swore under his breath. “Bloody owl. Let’s go.”

They joined the mass of students dashing to hit the Great Hall in time, taking the seats of two fourth year Gryffindor students heading back to the common room.

As John nodded at passing students, they giggled amongst themselves for some reason, pointing to his head. Confused, he brushed his hair back with his hands, smoothing it. Hopefully that was it.

“So how come you were sleeping in the common room? People don’t really tend to do that. Pretty much ‘cause you get drawn on.”

“Couldn’t sleep, there was an owl eating my face. That tends to put people off sleeping.” John paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow. “Did you just say _drawn on_?”

Clint gave him a lazy grin. “I may have neglected to mention that someone drew on your face. And by the looks of it, jinxed the word ‘noob’ onto your forehead.” He took another gulp of orange juice. “Did I not mention that? Sorry.”

John let out a string of expletives, decided against pulling the finger at Clint in front of the teachers, and grabbed two slices of toast to take with him. “Okay. I’m gonna go get this off. I’ll find Potions by myself. Hopefully I still remember where it is.”

“Have fuuuuuun!”

* * *

 

Half an hour later, he skidded to a halt outside the door to Professor Snape’s classroom. He’d managed to get _most_ of the ‘noob’ off his face, the remaining lines resembling faint pencil. John cautiously opened the door, noting that only half the seats were full. The Professor turned around at the noise, his mouth curling into a smirk. “Ah. Watson. You’ve finally decided to join us. Ten points from Gryffindor.” John opened his mouth to apologize, but the Professor cut him off with a finger, pointing to a desk two rows back next to an unfamiliar blonde with ridiculously curly hair. “Don’t make a habit of being late, not to my classes. You can sit there next to Miss Song.”

Sighing, John put his bag down beside the desk Snape had gestured to, plonking himself down in the chair. Snape turned back to the diagram he was drawing up on the textbook, talking about Draughts of Restoration. John turned to ‘Miss Song’, opening his mouth to ask what page they were looking at, but instead he gaped at her. He hadn’t been looking properly before, but this girl – she was _stunning_. Her mane of blonde curls descended to her shoulders; her green eyes – or were they blue? – focused, sharp.

And looking straight back at him.

She raised an eyebrow, looking expectantly at him. “Can I help you?”

John blinked for a moment, before pulling his eyes away from her face to the textbook open in front of him. “Yeah, just wondering what page we’re looking at.”  
“Three hundred and ninety four, three hundred and ninety five.”  Oh sweet heavens. Her voice.   
  
Snape’s voice pulled John out of his reverie. “Mr. Watson, I do hope you’re not distracting Miss Song from her work. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for being a nuisance in the classroom. And unless you want a detention on your first day, I suggest you be quiet.” John hid his face in his hands momentarily, sighing, before refocusing on the page in front of him.  
  
The rest of the class passed in relative silence, aside from Rory managing to drop his knife onto the floor twice while chopping Scamander tails (“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Williams, for being reckless with a knife.”). When Snape dismissed them, John turned to face the girl. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name. John Watson.” He tried to smile winningly at her, but it looked creepy more than anything else.   
  
“River Song. Slytherin. I’m new here, as are you, I’ve been told.”  She put the last of her books away in her bag. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to dash off to Arithmancy, and apparently that’s quite a way to walk.” River slung her bag over her back, smiling politely at John. “I’ll see you later.” John, presently unable to speak, just nodded, watching River walk off into the distance.

“ _Damn_. That girl is … wow.”

John spun around quickly to see Clint standing there. Evidently he’d been watching the whole exchange. “Yes. And I blew it.”

Clint laughed, patting John good-naturedly on the back. “On the other hand, you’ve got the rest of the year to gaze at her during Potions. That’s quite a lot of gazin’ time.” 

* * *

It took John and another Gryffindor seventh year, Amy, twenty minutes to make it from the dungeons to Care of Magical Creatures. An robust, bearded man, about 7 feet tall, waved to Amy; Amy grinned and gave him a thumbs-up in return. “Hagrid! It’s been too long.”

“Yes it has, Miss Pond.” He nodded to John, and extended a hand to him. “Hi there. Ya must be Jawn…? I was told I had a new enrolment this year.”   
“Yep, that is indeed me.” He shook the teacher’s hand, Hagrid’s hand completely covering his.  

Hagrid had set up a few tables outside, where the five students – John and Amy, two Hufflepuffs and a blonde-haired Slytherin – were assessing the health of hinkypunks as revision from last year.   
  
Amy didn’t stop talking once – about Rory, about Gryffindor, asking lots of questions about John. How was homeschooling? How did it work? Did you ever get discovered? Is it true that they kill wizards in Turkey? How much did he still remember about Hogwarts?

“Sorry, I’m just curious,” she apologized, shaking her red hair.

“T’s okay, I’m used to it. I have a sister.” He shrugged a shoulder.

“Did she start up this year too, or…?” 

John replied bluntly, his fists clenching slightly. “No.” Amy shut up after that, only asking for help with her diagnosis when she needed it.   


* * *

Bruce Banner added the finishing touches to a horrendously fat caricature of Professor Babbing, the Runes teacher. Tapping it once with his wand, it folded into the shape of a paper plane, before launching itself out the window, the only airhole in the small, cramped room. All the desks were filled albeit the one next to Bruce, his bag occupying the space.  

  
Sighing, Bruce looked back at his translation. His stupidly easy translation. What was the point of coming back for seventh year to learn, when the teachers just repeated the previous year’s course content? He cast that thought aside. While his friend Tony had come back for the easy girls, Bruce had returned to Hogwarts just to get his NEWTs as best he could.   
  
The door opened suddenly, and a petite girl with mousy hair slipped into the room. “Sorry I’m late Professor, I was talking to Professor Sprout.” Her voice as dainty as the rest of her, she apologized another two times before Babbing could point her to the empty seat next to Bruce. He reluctantly heaved his bag onto the floor, pulling her chair out for her. Bruce, not wanting to particularly wanting to initiate a conversation, smiled briefly at her before looking back at his textbook, pretending to be mildly interesting.

“Sorry, where are we?” she whispered, frowning.

“Translating exercise 1a. Right at the beginning, it’s fourth year stuff.”

She let out a sigh, opening her book “Oh. That’s no fun.”

He couldn’t help it, he smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name…?” 

“Molly Hooper. Hufflepuff.” She smiled at him, and Bruce noticed a dimple appear on her right cheek. “And yourself?”

“Bruce. Ravenclaw.” He tried to copy the lopsided grin that Clint often gave members of the opposite gender.

His own cheeks flushed as he realised it hadn’t quite worked out as he’d hoped as laughter bubbled from Molly, but a tell-tale crimson tint on her nose made him think that she’d understood the intention.

Professor Babbing called out for anyone to translate the section aloud, drawing both of their attention back to the task at hand. Peter, one of Bruce’s Ravenclaw dorm mates, offered an answer, Babbing correcting it on occasion. Bruce smiled, tapping his quill against the desk absent-mindedly.  
  
Maybe Runes wouldn’t be so bad this year after all.

* * *

  
Rory sat next to Clint in Muggle Studies, neither of them particularly paying attention. The essay on the invention of the television wasn’t particularly interesting, and most of the class was slacking off. One of the windows to the Quidditch fields outside opened slightly, a paperplane sliding through the narrow opening and landing on Clint’s desk. He opened it, grinning. Well, well. _Ickle Brucey is definitely regretting he’s taking Runes, to be_ this _bored,_ Clint thought. Although to be perfectly honest, Muggle Studies wasn’t that much fun either. His mind wandering, Clint grinned, remembering the _very_ gorgeous girl from Potions. Damn. What Clint would do to get a girl like her.

“So who else is new this year? I wasn’t paying much attention last night,” Clint asked, doodling on the corner of his parchment.   
Rory rolled his eyes. “I’m assuming you’re asking about the blonde whose ass you were staring at all through Potions.”  
“Was it really _that_ noticeable?”  
  
Rory raised an eyebrow. “Is Gryffindor going to win the house cup this year? Of course it was.” Rory sighed overdramatically, doing a spot-on impersonation of a fifth-year prefect who’d been bugging Clint to be quiet on the Hogwarts Express. “Really, Clint, are girls _all_ you can think of?”  
“Well, I think an awful lot ‘bout food. Pie. And AC/DC.” Rory opened his mouth to speak but Clint got there first. “Don’t you dare set off again about the Wizard Sisters. I like my music, you like yours.” Clint shrugged a shoulder. “She is pretty damn fine, though. I ain’t gonna lie.”  
  
“And I’m assuming this is the part where I tell you everything I know about her?” Rory raised his eyebrows. A moment later, Clint nodded. “Her name’s River. She’s in Slytherin. She was born here in England, but shifted to America at age 11,” Rory rattled off, counting snippets of information off on his ink-covered fingers. “But before you go off and screw her, remember that she’s new. She won’t know what a dick you are to anyone female.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Thank for the dating advice, Mr I-have-been-best-friends-with-my-girlfriend-since-birth.”

“Just… just don’t mess with her heart. Imagine how awful that would feel-”

“And imagine how great she would feel when I-”

Professor Burbage chose that moment to interrupt. “Mr. Barton, I do suggest you get back on task. I wouldn’t like to take points from Gryffindor on the first day back,” she said, pointing at his textbook, despite the hint of a smile on her face.

“Of course, Professor.” Clint grinned winningly at her.

“Remind me again how you manage to keep in her good books, but in no-one else’s.”

“I honestly don’t know. But it’s handy.”

Two sharp raps on the classroom door saw Clint quickly stuff Bruce’s drawing into his bag. Professor McGonagall opened the door, nearly bumping into the desks at the front of the room. “Need to get Argus to look at that…” she mumbled to herself before addressing Professor Burbage. “Charity. May I please borrow Mr Williams for a few minutes?”

Rory stood up, smiling at Burbage politely on his way to follow McGonagall out of the class. Shutting the door behind them, Rory was greeted with a “Goooood morning, stupidface,” from Amy, also in the process of being abducted from class by the Professor.

“Okay, as Head Boy and Girl, you two have a ‘special project’.” The Professor said the phrase with considerable distaste. “Why the Headmaster feels the need to call it such, I do not know.”

* * *

  
After lunch, which consisted of nothing but moaning from Clint about this ‘secrecy’ thing (“What?! Guys, c’mon. We’ve been friends or how long? A freakin’ long time. So _TELL ME_.”), the Gryffindor seventh years parted ways, organising to meet later in the courtyard after afternoon classes. Rory, Amy and John left for Herbology, while Clint set off to Astronomy. Bustling past a horde of first-years going in the opposite direction, Clint accidentally bumped into the side of a passer-by. “Sorry, didn’t see you there,” he mumbled, stooping to pick up two books he’d knocked out of her hands.   
  
“It’s quite alright, don’t worry about.” Clint stood up, handing the girl back her books. As he realised who it was, Clint’s face flushed a dark red, his eyes never once leaving River’s face. He cringed internally. He should’ve noticed the mess of blonde ringlets, the green robes, dat ass. _Way to make a fool out of yourself, Clint_. Merlin. She was so much more beautiful up close.   
  
“Natasha, I’ll meet you before dinner in the common room,” she laughed, motioning for the red-head walking with her to carry on. “Alors, voulez vous ma photo?” Her eyebrows halfway to her hairline, River ran a hand through her curls, laughing despite the pink growing across her cheeks.

Clint snapped out of his reverie, looking at the floor. “Sorry, I don’t speak French.”

“It basically means ‘Would you like my photo, or are you just gonna stand there looking at me?’”

Grinning at her, Clint had recovered somewhat from his daze. “A photo would sure as hell be lovely, Miss Song.”

She laughed, exposing white teeth. “You can show me the way to Astronomy first.”

“What a coincidence.” Clint let out a fake gasp. “I just so happen to have Astronomy now too. Maybe we’re in the same class.”

River nudged him lightly with her elbow, a smirk set on her face. “Cut the sass.” She paused for a moment, concentrating, an expression that quite frankly Clint found adorable on her. “I’m going to get your name wrong. Colin?”

“Clint Barton, at your service, Ma’am.” He bowed like a gentleman, a wild smirk on his face.

“Oh, you are ridiculous, you are.”

“They all tell me that. Now, c’mon, you don’t want to be late for Astronomy.”

* * *

Dinner came not a moment too soon for the seventh year students. The teachers had decided the students had done nowhere near enough work over the holidays, and took it upon themselves to give out enough homework to keep the NEWT students occupied.

“It’s possible that Flitwick is gonna get a swift knock to the head before Friday, yeah?” Amy rubbed her temples, accidentally dipping her elbows into Rory’s mashed potato. She didn’t notice as he frowned at her, pulling his food away from her.

“Why’s that?” John looked up from the battered copy of _Advanced Herbology, N.E.W.T Edition_ he’d been reading at the dinner table in the hope of reducing his homework time later that evening.

“If he gets anorexia, or whatever the Muggles call it, he’ll forget all about that two parchment roll essay. Foolproof plan, I tell you.” She nodded her head vigorously, her hair flying into Rory’s face, who spluttered, before giving up on eating altogether.

From the staff table, McGonagall tapped the side of her glass, calling the student body to be quiet. To her right, Professor Dumbledore pushed his chair back and stood up.

“It’s called Amnesia,” John whispered to Amy, earning him a sharp glare from a Ravenclaw prefect.

As soon as there was silence, the headmaster began to speak to the hall. “You have all heard the story of the four founders of this school. Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin built this castle and set up Hogwarts centuries ago, educating young witches and wizards like yourselves. Each founder chose students to join based on the human qualities they found most important. Gryffindor selected students for his house who were daring and brave, while Ravenclaw chose those with intelligence and wit. Hufflepuff favoured those who were loyal, fair, and unafraid of doing hard work, and Slytherin chose students who were ambitious and cunning. All of you know this.”

“But what I’m sure you do not realise is that this year is the one thousand, five hundredth anniversary of Hogwarts’ opening. One thousand and five hundred years of history, of magic, of learning has been conducted within these walls. And as a celebration of this, we are going to hold a tournament for seventh year students to compete in as house groups. It will test your bravery and wit; it will showcase your ambition and loyalties to one another. It is called the Four Founders’ Tournament.”

“There will be four tasks, and you will be marked on your teamwork and ability. It will also help you revise for your all-important NEWT exams.” This last sentence earned a groan from the majority of the seventh year students. “I will leave Heads of Houses and prefects to organise meetings in preparation for the first test on October the third. And may the best house win.”  

* * *

The common room was abuzz. Hell, the atmosphere hadn’t been more excited since Clint had collaborated with Ravenclaw’s resident bad boy Tony Stark to host the biggest New Years’ Eve party in a decade just the year before. Rory and Amy sat on the loveseat in front of the fire, trying to answer some of the questions being thrown at them tomorrow

“What if someone dies during the competition?”  
“Surely it won’t be _that_ dangerous… will it?”  
“Don’t be daft. I don’t think it’ll be any good.”  
“Dumbledore himself organised it. What could go wrong?”

Clint, who had been lying on the floor and attempting to get through Professor Burbage’s essay on the uses of the Interwebs (he wasn’t entirely sure that was what it was called, but Clint was more interested watching River at the time) rolled his eyes.

“I don’t want to be involved.”

Amy’s jaw dropped. “Nonsense. You’re gonna have to be. You’re the star chaser of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Hell, even when we tried that muggle archery thing in Hogsmeade last year, you never missed a target. You have perfect aim. You’re coming.”

“It’s boring. It’s distracting.”

“So you actually want to do school work then?”

“No, but there are too many girls to snog and so little time, even without this Founders rubbish.”

Rory stepped in as Amy sat speechless, cheeks red. “What Amy here is _trying_ to say, is that we need you. And it’s compulsory.”

Clint sighed from his place on the floor, rolling onto his back. “Don’t expect me to do any of the grudge work. Don’t expect me to do much of the work full stop.”  


* * *

  
Resting against an old willow tree in the Hogwarts courtyard the next afternoon, Rory shifted his arm to hold Amy closer. “You know, you are surprisingly cold for a ginger.”

She raised her eyebrows, in a “you seriously gonna go there?” gesture. “For a boyfriend, you are surprisingly uncomfortable.” She settled against him, reopening her book. “You’re lucky I love you-” she mumbled. He heard her, and grinned to himself before planting a kiss to the top of her head.  
  
A loud cough caused Amy to jump slightly, accidentally winding Rory. “I interrupt anything?” Clint smirked, raising his eyebrows.

Rory bent over double, trying to regain his breath. “You mean aside from my regular breathing pattern?” he wheezed as Amy rubbed circles on his back, biting the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from laughing.

“Well, if you’re not too busy groping each other in an open space, then I’d like to talk to you about this tournament thing.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “We know, Clint. You were quite explicit last night – you wanted nothing to do with it.”

Clint ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. That’s the thing – I’ve thought about it a bit more, and I am definitely keen.” He nodded, more to reassure himself than anyone else.

Amy lifted a hand to shield the sun out of her eyes, so she could look Clint in the eyes. “Does this have anything to do with that Song girl? ‘Cause she actually talked to me in Herbology, she wants in. Dumbledore approached her personally. He’d like her to volunteer, something about becoming a role model for the Slytherins. Y’know, because she actually seems capable of being nice to members of other houses.”   
  
Clint listened to Amy, with the air of one making notes for themselves for further reference. “Right. I mean, no, that’s not why I’m doin’- Not that I’m doing her-” He stopped midsentence and slammed his palm to his forehead, ignoring Amy and Rory’s sniggers. “I mean, I’d like to help out, oh wise and merciful Head Girl of mine. End of story.”

“You mean _mine,_ right?” Rory mumbled so only Amy could hear him, turning a page of the ginger’s book for her. Amy shot him a wink, ignoring Clint, who’d been watching the exchange with an amused grin.

“If you say so, sunshine.” Amy turned her head again to face Rory, a pout forming on her face. “When’s the meeting?”

“Tomorrow after Potions. And would you mind not flicking your hair in my face every five seconds, it’s seriously irritating.”

Amy stood up, offended, before addressing Clint. “McGonagall’s class, straight after Potions. I’m pretty sure that’s just before lunch. Savvy?” Without another look at Rory, she took her book and walked off. Rory put his head in his hands and ignored Clint, who was pulling faces at him.

“Well, Mr. Williams, I have a sneaking suspicion that she might be a little upset.”

“She was giving me whiplash. Sod off, Clint.”

“Why is Clint sodding off?” John strolled over to them, sitting down beside Rory. His cheeks were pink, presumably from the cool September breeze.

Before Clint could open his mouth, Rory cut in. “Hey, guess what. Clint wants to help with the first task, so he can woo River.”

“And I thought he’d have done it out of the goodness of his heart.”

Rory rolled his eyes and sniggered. “What made _you_ so late?”

The shortest of the trio hesitated for a moment. “Oh, Sprout held me in. She wants me to ‘extend myself’. And no, Clint, that is not something you can make an inappropriate joke about.” Despite having only known him for a few days, John had definitely seen Clint live up to his reputation as _the_ inappropriate joke king of Hogwarts.

“Is that a challenge? ‘Cause it’d be one I would definitely be keen fo-”

“ _No_.”

Rory sniggered at this exchange, before standing up abruptly. “I should really go after her. See you all later in the common room,” he called over his shoulder as he practically sprinted after his girlfriend.

John frowned. “What was that about?”

“Let me tell you about Rory’s troubles. There’s only one, to be honest.”

“And what might that be?”

Clint smirked, shooting a wink at a sixth-year girl passing by, who blushed furiously. “He’s whipped as hell.”

* * *

“He said _what_?” Natasha’s eyes widened, her voice filling the small space, startling a pair of second years in the corner of the room, who were playing Gobstones.

“You heard me.” River laughed. It was a spare moment of free time before curfew (not that the pair cared about such a trivial thing as that), the two Slytherin seventh years lying by the fire of their common room. “I’m not even a hundred percent sure where Hogsmeade is. But apparently they serve decent Butterbeer there, and he’d like to have a drink with me.”

Natasha clutched her pillow closer to her chest in a vain attempt to keep warm. The downfall of having such an epic common room beneath the great lake was the cold. “Clint Barton. Asking a girl out _before_ screwing them.” Her shoulder-length hair, midway between orange and brown, flew everywhere as she shook her head. “What has this world come to. Honestly.” The girl had a very cool demeanour. She was blunt, and not afraid to do what it took to get her way. Definitely a Slytherin.  And despite the fact that they’d only met on the Hogwarts Express, they’d gotten along instantly.

River tilted her head to one side, a frown transforming her round face. “What do you mean?” she asked, scepticism in her voice. River bit her lip. He’d seemed nice enough to her, and usually she was a good judge of character.

“Well, he’s certainly not the most monogamous man out there. Hell, I’ve had first-hand experience with the disaster that is Clint Barton.” She twirled a strand of her hair around her pinky, biting her lip in thought. “He was _the_ bachelor of our year. New girlfriend every week, king of the broom closets and so on.”

“And..?”

“He kept asking me out. Continuously. Day in and day out for weeks. At first I thought he was doing it because I was the only girl in the school I hadn’t slept with. But he kept asking. And he stopped snogging random people he passed in the corridor for over two months while pursuing me. One day, I said yes. I thought if I killed the chase for him, he’d laugh and say that it was all just a misunderstanding. But he didn’t. We dated for a year, right through summer before last. I was a fool for thinking he had changed, y’know? So on the first day of sixth year, we stood together on the platform, and I told him I loved him. He just walked off.”

River raised her eyebrows in surprise. “And that was it?”

“Not quite. An hour later, when I was trying to find Laufeyson to hand back a book he’d lent me over the summer, I saw him snogging another girl. And that was the end of that.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t go out with him then?”

“Of course not. I just don’t want you to get hurt the way I did. Just... be careful, okay?”

“Isn’t there a girl code or something about dating friends’ ex-boyfriends?”

“Nope,” Natasha said, popping the ‘p’, causing several students in the common room to frown at her. “Girl codes are for Hufflepuffs. In Slytherin, it’s take what you can.”

“And give nothing back!” River grinned, raising her fist.

* * *

  
“Hey, John?”

Hearing Rory whisper, he looked up from his letter to Sherlock, lying on his bed. It was very late that night, and Clint had already fallen asleep. “Yeah?”

A puzzled look on his face, Rory looked up at him from the Charms book he was studying. “Sorry, I’m confused. And I know it’s none of my business, but-“

John rolled his eyes, interrupting the other boy. “Cut to the chase, Rory.”

“What were you _really_ doing this afternoon? ‘Cause it certainly didn’t look like you’d just been to see Professor Sprout.”

He bit his lip, fiddling with his hands. “Well, you know that River girl?” He waited for Rory’s nod before continuing.  “The thing is, she was in my herbology class, and I thought why the hell not. I asked her out.” His cheeks coloured, “And before you call me an idiot, know that every guy in that class had their eye on her. I just wanted to get in before everyone else.”

Rory was torn between laughing and reaching two beds over to pat John on the back for his good effort. “Well, at least you tried. What’d she say?”

“Um, she didn’t laugh. I guess that’s a plus.” He scratched the top of his head. “She let me down really gently. ‘Sorry, but I need to get to grips with Hogwarts before I even think of stuff like that.’ She called me a ‘real sweet guy’.” Despite his situation, he smiled. “She’d like to be friends.”

“Well, that’s probably the best you can hope for with a Slytherin girl,” Rory joked. 

* * *

  
_“John!”_

_The girl laughed, twirling around in the summer breeze. Despite the warmth of the sun, the wind nipped at the gap between his too-small trousers and his boots. His sister’s laugh filled the air again, echoing off the trees surrounding them._

_And then it turned sour. He spotted one, two, three, all armed with metal sticks – guns. They were called guns. – and they were aimed straight at him. He pulled out his wand and they were chasing him, oh, calling out strings of abuse and commands in Farsi, and they had him pinned up against a tree… where was Harry? “Harriet!” He called out to her, but no response. “Harriet!” he bellowed, earning him a punch to the stomach. Doubled over, he snuck his hand into his robes, pulling out his wand. He Stunned one, two, three, watching them fall to the ground._

_He heard a scream._

_Sprinting, he followed the sound. He got back to the meadow they’d been playing in but she was already gone._

_Again._

_  
_“John!”

He rolled over, tears rolling down his face. Rory’s face, confused and worried, hovered over his own. “What’s wrong?”   
  
“Nothing!” John sat up quickly, brushed the tears away, and rolled away from him. It had been three months, two weeks, and three nights since his last nightmare. Sighing, he rubbed at his eyes with clenched fists, the nails of his thumbs digging into his forefingers. “Just a dream,” he lied, directed more at himself than at the other occupants of the dormitory.

“You sure? You were screaming pretty loudly.” Rory frowned, returning to his own bed. John sat there in silence, recovering whatever dignity he had left. After a moment, Rory spoke up again. “You know, that offer still stands. I’m free to talk to you if you want-“

“I’m _good_. Fine. Dandy. Brilliant.” This time more forcefully. God, twice today he’d done that. Shut people down when they got too close. He needed to take a breather.

Two days down, three months to go until Christmas break.

* * *

 

“Mr. Barton, eyes on your potion, not Miss Song.” Professor Snape’s voice, eerie as usual, caused Tony to sit up quickly, straightening up his robes. Snape’s mouth curled at the edges, which was always a bad sign. “I hope you weren’t falling asleep in class _again_ , Mr Stark.”  
  
“Of course not, _sir_. I was simply allowing the rest of the class to catch up to my level of expertise,” he replied, cheeky as ever. His hair slightly ruffled from lying on it, Tony’s hazel eyes flicked lazily from the Professor to the Muggle watch he’d bought while in London earlier that year – _wait, he’d been asleep_ how _long?_ – and back again.   
  
“Then you won’t mind coming back here on Friday for detention. 6pm. Don’t. Be. Late.” Snape smirked, gesturing to Tony’s version of a Gurdyroot antidote, which had been brewing while he was asleep. “Looks like you’ll have to start again, too, judging by the way this is bubbling. Twenty points from Ravenclaw for incompetence.”

Tony swore under his breath, quickly siphoning away the contents of his cauldron before starting all over again. He aggressively chopped his newt tails, narrowly missing his fingers more than once.

“Tony!” Bruce motioned at his own chin. “You sorta dribbled in your sleep.”

Tony hastily wiped it away with the sleeve of his robes, swearing again. Dammit. It had _not_ been a good day. He’d been up early this morning practicing charms – which was easily his best subject - and of course, he’d started experimenting, which was never a good idea before breakfast. Tony had ended up with his feet on fire, which was not the best start to the day considering he’d had to extinguish the flames using a nearby (and definitely not his, no, of course not) bottle of firewhiskey. Four showers later, he _still_ smelt faintly of burning socks and alcohol. And then some stupid first year had knocked into him at breakfast while he was reaching for the orange juice on the Hufflepuff table, resulting in another shower. Pepper – one of Tony’s closest friends, a Hufflepuff with mid-length blonde hair and the patience of an angel – had asked what was wrong with him when he bustled into double Potions and he was actually _clean._ Usually, he was so wrapped up in his work that everything else came second. Well, sort of. Booze and girls and work, all wrapped into one. Who knows how he managed to keep that up.

“C’mon, we’ve got that seventh year meeting thing with the other houses today. Stay awake for a bit longer.” Bruce took a look at Tony’s potion, peering over the cauldron. “Do you want me to give you a hand? Mine’s just brewing now, I can spare ten minutes.”

“Thanks.” Tony smiled earnestly at Bruce, patting him on the back in an “I’m too cool to hug you, because we’re both males” way. “Where would I be without my science bro?”

“Nowhere, that’s where,” came the reply, a smile playing at the corners of his friend’s mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - Hi. I'm Sylvia. Please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times.


End file.
